Right in the Moment, This Order's Tall
by CharWright5
Summary: "James was an addict. But it wasn't like he could go to rehab, wasn't like he could just quit his addictive behavior, stop taking whatever substance it was that was making him high, making him needy, making him desperate. He needed it to live." AU, Being Human crossover.


_**A/N:**__ Crossover with the US version of "Being Human", some slight spoilers through episode two(ish, I think) of season four. You don't really need to watch the show to get this, but pretty much James is a vampire, Kendall is a werewolf (like on "Big Time Halloween"), and Carlos is a ghost (who was brought back to life as a human thanks to a voodoo priestess) that lives with them. Typed straight into an LJ doc and was just this stream of conscious thing that may or may not make sense. It wasn't supposed to be this long, I swear to god, it just got away from me during the set-up. Shit._

_I own nothing, but a brain that can't get into a fandom without somehow crossing it over into a BTR oneshot or fic. Title from "Skinny Love" by Birdy, a song that just breaks my heart every time I hear it because of the scene it was used in "Being Human" for. AIDAN WILL NOT DIE TODAY!_

* * *

James was an addict. But it wasn't like he could go to rehab, wasn't like he could just quit his addictive behavior, stop taking whatever substance it was that was making him high, making him needy, making him desperate. He needed it to live.

Blood was an essential need for every vampire. No matter what folklore or legend or tale you heard, no matter what remastering of old fables were done, it was the one constant. Some vampires could go in the sun, some couldn't stand any religious relic, some looked human but their faces would transform with hunger, becoming more of a literal monster than before. But no matter the case, they needed to feed on blood.

James was no different.

But his reality wasn't just needing blood to live; he needed it like a drug. It pretty much was one. It had the same addictive qualities as heroin, gave the same stoned out feeling as marijuana. But it had the same ability to completely fuck with his mind, demanding that he keep drinking until there was nothing left of whomever he was feeding from. He'd be full, sated, and admittedly loopy and giggly.

Until the realization of what happened hit. Then it was guilt, a terrible ache in his chest that weighed him down, pressed on his mind, made him crazy with it. He'd taken a life. He'd killed a person, a human, something that he used to be once upon a time. He was responsible for removing someone from this earth, for taking away someone's friend, family member, loved one. He was the monster in the horror movies, the damned creature of old folklores used to scare children.

He'd vow to never do it again, to never feed live. He stole blood bags from the hospital where he worked, stashing them in the fridge of the house he shared with his two best friends Kendall and Carlos, the two people on this earth who actually believed there was good in him, even when he never saw it himself, even when he fed, when he killed.

Okay, maybe not then. Kendall had a habit of throwing a bit of a hissy, of lecturing James about his murderous ways, of acting high and mighty and self-righteous over the whole thing. Like James had actually done it on purpose, like he'd actually set out to kill someone that night. But eventually, Kendall would come around, would find it in his heart to forgive James and they'd go back to being the best of friends.

Thank fuck, because during those two days or so of Kendall's cold shoulder, James would actually feel like he was dying. It was a different kind of death than the one that had turned him into what he was, mostly because he didn't fully remember much of that. Just a sharp stabbing sensation in his neck, the pain of trying to fight it off and hold on, followed by a lethargy as he slowly fell into a deep sleep, his body shutting down. But the feelings he experienced during Kendall's freeze out were worse, a deep stabbing in his chest, an ache he couldn't numb out, a bleed he couldn't stop. He'd lived for over 200 hundred years, had experienced countless lifetimes full of death, loss, fear, and tragedy. But none of it compared to the hurt look in those green eyes and the disappointment etched on the werewolf's features.

But Kendall would always come around, his savior complex getting the best of him-at least that's what James thought it was-still seeing the good in the vampire and believing that there was still some good left in the bloodsucker. After all, why else would he feel so guilty about taking a life, why else would he try so hard to not feed live, to not put himself in those situations where he'd be too thirsty, the bloodlust too strong, and he'd end up killing again? And Kendall would help him out, would remind him that certain behaviors weren't smart, that he really needed to take a step back and think, and hey, was going out and getting drunk at that new club downtown really necessary since alcohol lowers inhibitions and no he didn't know if it worked the same way with a vampire's metabolism. He even went so far as to letting James drink from him, when he was too thirsty and the hospital was keeping stricter regulations on its blood supply since some of it was mysteriously vanishing.

Just sucked that experiment went wrong.

Well, at first it was awesome. James felt this rush, this huge burst of adrenaline more powerful than drinking from a human and he figured that's why vampires didn't drink from werewolves. It wasn't due to the godawful smell-although really that was reason enough to avoid the creatures-or the whole vampires and werewolves just don't get along because of reasons thing. It was because the high from that blood, the rush, the buzz, it was too much, too great, too powerful. If vampires caught wind of it, werewolves would be drained dry, eradicated from the earth themselves, all so the bloodsuckers could chase that high.

Then things went to shit.

James collapsed, bleeding from the eyes, the ears, the mouth. His lungs weren't working, he wasn't getting any air, and he felt like he was literally dying. And not the metaphorical overdramatic dying of being ignored by his best friend-whom he may or may not have a thing for-or the death he experienced when he was turned. This was worse. _Much_ worse.

But thank fuck for having a wannabe doctor for a best friend and he recovered, vowing never to drink from Kendall again. Kendall agreed, if for no other reason than he didn't wanna see James like that again, didn't want to kill his best friend and roommate.

But for James, it was more than that. Okay, yeah, nearly dying was enough of a reason to stay away, but it was more than that. For starters, the tingling he felt, the rush, the high, it was too much, too good. The only thing going on in his mind at that moment was moremore_more_, a need to get as much of it inside his mouth and in his body as quickly as possible. He knew he couldn't, had somehow managed to stop himself, to pull away, to tell Kendall to leave but the stubborn asshole wouldn't go, just stuck around-which in hindsight was really good 'cause it led to James _not_ dying, which was awesome. So yay there.

But the worst part was the other affects it had on his body. He had gotten hard. Like _really_ hard, to the point of pain. Arousal sometimes joined bloodlust, especially if feelings of attraction were already in place, and considering the fact that James had battled the urge to mount Kendall several times already, it was about a million times worse. As he drank from his best friends wrist, as he thought about how fucking _amazing_ the werewolf's blood tasted, he was also trying to figure out the best and easiest way to get them both naked and James inside of the other male without having to break away from his food source.

Knowing that couldn't happen stopped him, forced him to pull away, made him tell his friend to leave. Kendall was straight. Kendall was a werewolf. Kendall was wrong for him in so many ways.

Yet Kendall was absolutely fucking perfect for him.

It was the image of the blond's face that had kept James going when he'd been buried underground for a year, the blond's voice he heard in his head when Dak was taking him back to the Dutch to feed them, the blond's everything that got him off the ground, dying of blood loss and thirst, helping him to find a payphone and call his friends to get him. It was the blond he sagged against in relief when they finally found him.

And now, it was the blond offering to feed him once more.

A year ago, James would've told him no, told him to not be dumb, told him that it was stupid and insane and didn't they do that already and it ended, ya know, _terrible_? But things were different now. His werewolf best friend was no longer a werewolf, having killed the man who turned him and curing himself. A flu virus had spread throughout the city and surrounding areas, knocking humans off their asses for a few days and vampires off the earth for the rest of-well, however long the earth was gonna exist. And it wasn't just humans who were currently suffering from it that would kill the bloodsuckers. No, the virus still lived inside them, in anti-bodies that floated around, living in the blood, contaminating those who drank from mortals and killing them within a couple days.

Kendall had never caught it.

He'd always been a germaphobe, always been OCD with the cleaning and the handwashing. When a big virus like that broke out, he got worse, never going anywhere without a travel bottle of sanitizer. He would've worn a surgical mask and gloves had another fellow nurse named Logan not talked him out of it.

But whatever the case may be, he was clean, had clean blood, virus- and werewolf-free blood. And he was sitting on the couch of their home, wrist held out, the sleeve of his flannel shirt rolled up to the elbow, offering to feed his starving friend.

James swallowed dryly, feeling his fangs extend, knowing his eyes were probably blackened. He could hear his friend's pulse, see the blood rushing through veins under pale skin. His throat was burning, aching with thirst, his body barely capable of any form of movement. It was an effort just to stand, just to blink, just to even move his lips to say no. And he wasn't entirely sure if he was even gonna say no. All he could think about was how badly he needed a drink and how good his friend's wrist looked.

He'd already been out in search of a drink. The blood dens had been shut down over a year and a half ago, after Gustavo's death. The usual blood donors he paid were gone, either dead or having suffered the flu. And he couldn't risk biting a random stranger off the street for fear they either had the virus or he'd drain them dry. It seemed like Kendall was his only option.

No. Kendall wasn't an option. Kendall was dangerous, was too tasty and he was too fucking thirsty. He was tempted to completely drain his friend last time-the _only_ time it happened-and now with his body so desperate, so needy, so on the verge of turning to ashes without something wet and tasty and nutritious going down his throat, he really didn't wanna fucking risk the life of the male he'd grown such deep feelings for. He wouldn't mind dying himself-hell, he pretty sure he already was-but living with the fact that he'd killed Kendall wouldn't be anything he could bear. He'd rather die of thirst, slowly, achingly, painfully, than hurt the blond in any way.

James knew he was a murderer, knew he was a monster. He'd taken lives, most of whom he didn't remember the names of-if he knew them in the first place. Their faces were a blur now, the most recent ones sticking out in stark contrast of the featureless ones of his past. He'd killed Gustavo, his maker. He'd killed Gustavo's little bitch boy, who actually had it coming considering how he constantly treated James like shit. He'd killed the girl he loved, drove a stake through her heart at her own request. He'd killed the young boy, Tyler, that she had changed, saving him from a death caused by an automobile accident because she knew James adored him, because she wanted to start a family with him. And while the loss of each of them was like a hole in his heart, he knew that if he lost Kendall, he wouldn't even have a heart to be punctured. It would die along with the blond.

Which was why he stood there, arms folded around his torso, a torso that was once muscular but over the past year had lost mass, had loss weight. He was holding himself back from the other male, away from temptation, as well as holding himself together. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do either.

But he had the strength to shake his head, to deny his friend's offer, to hold back as he reminded himself that walking over would just take energy, energy he didn't have. He was fine, he was okay, he was-

"You're not okay."

Had he said that out loud? God, he was so fucking tired. He'd been buried underground in a casket for a year, didn't need sleep, but was still so, so tired.

Kendall let out a sigh that was part frustration, part pity and James hated it. Hated that his friend was being stubborn and obviously wasn't gonna let it go. Hated that his friend felt bad for him and was looking at him like he was some sorta invalid who needed taking care of. Hated that he really did need help.

The blond dropped his wrist onto his lap, scooting to the edge of the couch and looking at his friend square in the eyes. There was a fierce determination in his green orbs, a steely resolve that told James he wasn't gonna back down, that this conversation was never gonna end until the vampire had his teeth in the smaller male and blood in his system that wasn't his own.

Great.

"Look," Kendall started, trying to be diplomatic, hands out to the side to gesture for emphasis. "I'm not one-hundred percent sure what'll happen if you drink from me, I'll admit it. And as scary as seeing you go all stigmata was, at least we know how to deal with that and fix it, cure you, ya know? But it's nowhere near as bad as watching you slowly wither away to nothing, shuffling around the house all glassy eyed and covered in sweat with the heroin not-so-chic look you got going on. Which is _not_ a look you can pull of, by the way." He paused, dropping his hands between his spread legs, shoulders drooped. "I just want you to be okay."

"I _am_ okay," James argued, his voice betraying him. He sounded weak, tired, hoarse. It hurt to talk, his throat so dry, and he wasn't sure if he was speaking or just gritting out words past a rocky uvula and sandpaper tongue.

But his pride had taken over, his refusal to seem weak or needy, to always appear strong and in control. It had gotten him into trouble countless times over his two centuries of life, but it didn't matter. Force of habit or some shit. Plus he was used to being alone, used to not having someone around. Sure, there were those moments where he had teamed up with Gustavo, had been his little stooge for a decade or so here and there, before his moral compass kicked back in and he could no longer stand the monster he was when with his maker, but for the most part, he was by himself. He didn't have anyone to rely on, to turn to, to get help from. It was a lonely existence, sure, but it was a necessary one. Forming relationship only meant you had more people to mourn and fuck knew he'd been carrying the burden of too many lives lost already.

And aside from a brief fling with a female in the seventies whom he thought he could actually make a new life with before being abandoned at a train station in Montreal, that's how he lived. Until he found Kendall getting his ass kicked by a bunch of vamps in an alleyway behind the diner where the werewolf was working. He hadn't been alone since.

He'd also never been more scared in his life to lose something.

Which wasn't the only downside of actually forming a relationship with someone. The only bad part was the fact that they got to know you, got to know your weaknesses, your tells. And considering the look on Kendall's face, it was obvious he knew exactly when James was lying, just like he was at that moment.

"No, you're not," he argued right back, their friendship contentious at time, but always out of a good place, never for meanness or spite or jealousy or any other bullshit. "James, I can see you're not fucking fine. And I refuse to let you slowly die right in front of me, not when I can do something to stop it from happening." He rose to his feet, walking over to the vampire, that same determination still on his face mixed with a look of kindness, of sweetness, of the belief that he was doing the right thing by his friend.

James back away, nearly tripping over the cat statue with the baseball catcher's mask on it, bumping into the wall. He had nowhere to go. He was trapped.

Kendall stopped directly in front of him, holding his exposed wrist up, right by James' mouth. "Please. Just drink."

The vampire could only withstand so much, even at his strongest. Which definitely wasn't at that moment. Not when his thirst was a wildfire in his throat that he knew he couldn't put out, even if he drained the Arctic Ocean. He knew he also couldn't get rid of the cold sweats his withdrawal was causing, not if he took another ocean's worth of showers. And he sure as hell couldn't keep on actually living, not without blood.

His black eyes tilted down, looked at his best friend's normally white wrist, now tinged pink. His veins were visible, beating, pulsing, the blood flowing through them a rush in James' ears. He licked his lips with a dry tongue, swallowed nothing, felt his fangs stabbing at the inside of his mouth. He was ravenous, he was starving, he was in need of healing from being drank from himself, Dak believing his untainted blood was the cure for the virus their kind was dying from. Dak had been wrong, had disintegrated right in front of James' eyes. Would Kendall be wrong, too? Was James willing to risk drinking his blood, blood that could possibly still contain toxic werewolf DNA, blood that gave him the highest high he'd ever experienced? Was he willing to put his own life on the line and the life of his best friend, the male he was falling for?

His eyes flipped up, locking on Kendall's, a myriad of emotions in the mix of green and yellow. That same fierceness was there, the same determination to get James to drink, but there was more than that. There was the selfless sacrifice he was willing to make, that if he died because of this he'd be okay. There was worry over his best friend and his well-being, afraid to lose the elder male, afraid of being alone himself. There was the pain of seeing the vampire slowly dying in front of him, seeing the guy he cared about wasting away and not seeming to care about it. But there was another emotion, one that ran deeper than the others, one that James was afraid to figure out the full meaning, knowing that it couldn't happen, _shouldn't_ happen.

So rather than deal with it, he closed his eyes, completely losing the battle with his friend and with himself. Peeling his lips back from his teeth, he sank his fangs into Kendall's wrist and drank.

His eyes shot open as soon as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. It was there, the rush, the high, the overwhelming sensation of adrenaline and tingles and... _everything_. It was too much, not enough, and James wanted to keep drinking forever.

The second pull had him realizing that it was okay, that it was safe. It wasn't the same buzz as before, wasn't the same head spin, body quaking, mindfuck of before. This was different, this was new, this was... this was Kendall, all him. The immediate satisfaction, the taste, the feel, the sensation, the... godfuckingdamn, the arousal.

The third pull had him moaning, had his dick coming to life, along with the rest of him. His heart was beating again, pounding even, nearly jumping out of his chest in a way he hadn't felt since... well, ever if he was being completely honest. His stomach was tight, in knots, his skin was tingling, and god he wished his lips weren't occupied at the moment. He wanted Kendall naked, wanted himself naked, wanting them moving together, moaning, groaning, panting, no words but harsh swears and husky praises of each others names, commands to go harderfastermore_please_. He wanted his best friend to be more than just his best friend, wanted to be inside the blond as he took the other male inside himself. He wanted so much more than what he deserved and what Kendall could give.

James pulled away, feeling the buzz, the high, the rush that came from feeding. He licked his lips, getting every last drop, small smile on his face. The thirst wasn't fully sated, but he'd taken the edge off, a small hit instead of a long line. It wasn't enough, but plenty to keep him from mauling someone and draining them dry.

Swallowing, he looked at his best friend, fully taking in the look on the other male's face, seeing how his teeth were digging into his bottom lip. But not from pain, despite the small gasp he'd let out when James had first sank his teeth into his wrist. Although he might've been in pain of a different kind, considering the rest of his physical appearance.

Kendall's pupils were blown wide, eyes half-lidded, cheeks reddened. His fist was clenched into James' black tee, chest heaving as he struggled to get enough air. But the most obvious thing of all was lower still, where their pelvises were aligned and his hard cock was pressed against James'.

The blond was just as aroused as the brunet.

The vampire didn't hesitate, didn't think twice, _couldn't_ think twice. His head was fuzzy, a mix of feeding and arousal, and he was entirely incapable of producing a single thought other than the huge need to be inside the other male. So he grabbed hold of his friend's face and kissed him. Hard.

Although "kiss" might've been romanticizing it a bit. This was a hard crashing of lips, teeth clacking together, tongues shoved in mouths they didn't belong in. Breath was exhaled harshly on each other, Kendall moving his grip onto James' forearms, digging his fingers in as though he was drowning and the larger male was some sorta raft. He had it backwards, as far as the elder male was concerned. Kendall was clearly the savior in this picture. Kendall was the one who'd sacrificed, who'd given up his blood, who'd saved James from certain death.

Kendall was also the one who broke away from the kiss, panting out a "wait. Just. Wait." as his hands moved across the other male's form. It took James a moment to realize what the fuck was going on, why the blond had stopped what was by far the hottest make out session of his life, why he was currently being patted down like a criminal, his eyelids being held open and stared into. The blond was making sure he was okay.

"How do you feel?"

"Amazing," James replied honestly, smile on his face, relief in his lungs. "Better than that. I feel." He paused to shake his head and shrug, letting out a small laugh. "Amazing."

The answer didn't seem to assuage Kendall's fear though, that same worry on his face, crinkling his forehead, scrunching up his brow. "That's what you said last time before you-" he trailed off, tilting his head back and forth. "Ya know?"

The vampire knew exactly what he was referring to, but didn't feel it. His body was still a livewire, alive, buzzing, electric currents flowing through him and causing him to feel tingly everywhere. But it wasn't like last time, wasn't the too high of the high, wasn't the flying before the crash. It was pure Kendall.

Cupping his friend's face, he forced the blond to look at him, to meet his eyes, to see the serious expression he was wearing so he knew the elder wasn't lying. "The only problem I have right now is that you're no longer kissing me."

Relief flooded Kendall's features, a slow smile forming on his face, dimples joining. Without another word, he reconnected their lips, this kiss more gentle, more passionate, more kind and sweet and lo-

No. James wasn't gonna think about that, no matter how true it may have been.

Moving his hands to the smaller male's hips, he vamp-sped them over to the couch, laying the blond on it before crawling on top, straddling him. He lined their pelvises up perfectly, grinding down, eliciting groans from the other male that would fuel wet dreams and jack off fantasies for decades to come.

Kendall tore his lips away, panting hard, lifting his hips up to meet James thrust for thrust. He swallowed hard, moaned, breathed out the brunet's name in a plea for more. And fuck did the vampire wanna give him more, give him _everything_. He wanted to fuck the blond on every surface in the house—assuming their former-ghost, now-human-zombie-type-thing roommate Carlos wasn't home of course—then let Kendall fuck him on everything right back. He wanted to hold the other male close all night, to protect him from the monsters they knew were real, the monsters they kept inside of them. He wanted to make stupid promises involving the words "always" and "forever" and "'til death do we part" knowing that he wouldn't be the one departing. He wanted to spend all of eternity mourning the lose of a love so epic people wrote tragedies and romance stories about it, aspiring to feel something like it but not coming anywhere close.

He wanted to be Kendall's, and wanted Kendall as his own. He wanted them to be together for as long as fate would allow. He wanted something he could never have.

And he knew it had nothing to do with how amazing the blond tasted.

James carded his fingers through dirty blond locks, left hand gripping a bony hip, still grinding, still moving. He pressed their foreheads together, both of them panting, breathing hard, their air being exchanged. As James exhaled, Kendall would breathe in. When James inhaled, it was the air Kendall had breathed out.

The younger male nudged his nose against the elder's, turned his head, tilted it back. He was exposing his neck, his jugular, his artery. He was trusting James with his life, with his most vulnerable of all pulse points. The blood would rush there so fast, so quickly, so thick and pure and delicious. And if James would drink from there, it would be deep, long pulls, drinking down more than what he'd be able to get from the wrist.

"Kendall." The name came out as a whisper, a praise, a disbelief that the other male would take this risk and an awe at the bravery of this mortal male. His life could be ended so easily, just one too many drops and it was over, his time on earth done. And James knew it, had done it before, had drank too much, too deep, too fast, had killed. Yet Kendall was sure it wouldn't happen to him.

James didn't deserve this, didn't deserve him.

But still, he sank his teeth in.

The noise Kendall let out was a mix of a gasp and groan, a sound of pain and ecstasy. His long fingers pulled at James' brown locks, gripped tight on his t-shirt, hips moving up and down faster, harder, needing moremore_more_. Just like James needed.

So he kept at it. He kept drinking, kept rolling his hips, kept tugging on blond hair and grinding on a hard cock and oh fuck, he was gonna come. It was building up, faster, stronger than ever before and he knew it was Kendall. He'd drank while fucking before, had accidentally killed more than one sexual partner that way. And it was the thought that he could kill Kendall that had him pulling his mouth away, had him gasping as he lifted his head.

The blond turned his head, face contorted in that mix of pleasure and being so close it actually hurt. But he was fine, wasn't dying, wasn't dead. He was perfect, more than really, considering how he fit along James' body as though he was specifically made to go there.

"Close," the younger male breathed out. "So close. Fuck, James."

The vampire let out a swear, head dipping down, forehead pressed against the other male's, the two of them panting into each other's mouths once again. A thin sheen of sweat was on both their bodies, James feeling a small hint of relief that it was from physical exertion and not a symptom of blood withdrawal.

But none of that seemed to matter, not the sweat, not the blood, nothing. All that matter was his orgasm was right there and Kendall was writhing beneath him as a panting, moaning mess, groaning out his name like a praise, a prayer, a word he couldn't get enough of. And when it was yelled out one final time, it was joined by a swear, by an arching back, by wide eyes and slack jaw.

Seeing the blond coming was all it took for James, the vampire tipping over the edge himself. His body stiffened over the smaller male, hard cock pressed against a shuddering one, his boxers getting wet as his orgasm made its way out his dick. When he was finally spent, he collapsed on top of the other male, head buried on a thin shoulder.

Neither male spoke, just basked in the afterglow, allowing themselves to come down, to regulate their breathing and their heart rate. James felt the smaller male shuddering below him, felt and heard his pulse slowing, felt him return to normal. He could also feel the deathgrip Kendall had on his t-shirt, feel the sting in his head from where his hair had been pulled, feel the thigh locked around his hips.

He could smell the blood, too.

James lifted his head, not seeing the blissed out look on the other male's face, not seeing the sparkle in his eyes or the satisfied curve of his dimpled smile. He was seeing the red on his neck, on the collar of his shirt. He bit his best friend, drank from him when he swore never to do it again. And worst of all, he _liked_ it, wanted more.

"James?"

The vampire didn't stick around to answer, to reply, to deal with the questioning look on his friend's face. He extracted himself from Kendall's grip, stood up, straightened his shirt and fixed his hair. "I hafta. Go. Do. This thing." He was flustered, freaked out, needed to get the fuck away from the blond before he did anything else, anything worse. "Right. Bye."

He ignored Kendall as his name was being called, ignored the "what the fuck?", the "wait", the "dude!" and headed to his room in the basement, shutting and locking the door behind himself.

The knocking started as soon as his feet hit the ground floor, as soon as he finished with the stairs, but he ignored that, too. He headed straight over to a mirror in the corner,a mirror above a sink, a mirror he could see his reflection in contrary to popular myth. Gripping the edge of the sink, he hung his head, breathing hard, trying to remain calm, cool, collected. Everything he wasn't.

He was the worst kind of monster. He killed in order to live. He drank, he took someone's life essence, he stole something valuable and precious to them. And now, he had done it to his best friend.

Raising his head, he took in his reflection, seeing the dark circles still under his eyes, seeing the red on his teeth, seeing his kiss-swollen lips. He actually looked healthier than he did before, his small meal having helped heal him, make him better, stronger, more alive—in a sense. He no longer sported that "heroin not-so-chic" look that Kendall had said he was wearing, having given in to his addiction, his impulse, having fed himself of that thing he needed but hated, that controlled his every action and thought.

James let out a shaky breath, guilt hitting him like a Mack truck, recalling his most recent feedings, of the way Kendall moved below him, the noises he made, the sensations wracking his own body during the whole thing. Lust, hunger, need, want, desire. Love.

It seemed like blood was no longer James' only addiction.


End file.
